Below Zero
by HannahIsAHobbit
Summary: John Watson is different. He's special. Or, as he likes to think of it, cursed.


_**One**_

The creak of a door opening echoed through the house. He gasped, hopping up immediately. He would catch her this time, and she wouldn't be able to say no to a game of hide and seek. "Harriet!" He giggled, running up the stairs. He turned the corner just in time to see the door close again. A sigh escaped his small lips as he trudged toward her door.

"Please let me in, Harriet." He whined.

"Go away, John." Annoyance tainted his sister's voice. "But…I want to play." Little John Watson pouted. "Go play by yourself." She spat back. "That's no fun!" He exclaimed. There was no response.

"Harriet," John's voice was now barely audible. "I miss you. I hardly even remember what you look like."

He longed for the loving arms of his older sister, but all that greeted him was bitter silence.

"Please, Harry…" His voice cracked, and a knot was forming in his chest. He sunk down next to the door.

Never had John felt so incomplete. He didn't understand. Harriet used to be his best friend, and now she wanted nothing to do with him. He ran a hand through his blonde hair.

"Why am I losing you? What have I done to upset you?" He asked. Harriet was obviously ignoring him.

John felt the familiar sting in his eyes. He knew this feeling all too well, as it came to him nearly every night. He held his breath as the tears began to spill over.

They dripped down his nose; full of pain, and so, so cold. John let out a shaky breath. It hovered in a white fog in front of him. John furrowed his brows in confusion; though the bitter wind blew mercilessly outside, the house was always kept perfectly warm.

He placed a palm on the wood floor, shifting his weight to his opposite hip. Something icy nipped at his bare hand, making him jump.

Minute ice crystals lined his fingers.

These crystals had been tears, not three minutes ago!

Suddenly, the door supporting his back disappeared. John fell backwards, flailing his arms about in a desperate attempt to regain balance. A sound like no other rang through the room, and John felt something burst from his hands.

Harriet's room had transformed into something like Alaska's harshest winter.

"John," Harriet was positively dumbfounded. "What did you do?" She slid back a few inches involuntarily, not sure how to maneuver her footsteps on the frozen floor.

"I'm not sure." John said. He marveled at his creation. "Wow.." He grinned. He took a step toward his sister, but was not at all expecting the ice to be this…well…icy. John wobbled and plunged forward. That rush shocked his body again, and John felt the chill shoot from his hands. This excited him. He finally had a talent. He was going to use this blessing to make everything better.

A scream cut through his thoughts, startling John beyond belief. He looked up and gasped. Harriet had slammed onto the ground, clenching her stomach, a look of pain upon her face.

John stumbled over, and took her hand. A monstrous icicle stood upright, planted in Harriet's lower abdomen.

"Mummy! Daddy! Hurry!" John cried.

He had hurt her and he couldn't take it back. She was hurt and it was all his fault.

—

He looked down at his hands, and shook his head.

_Hands of a monster, _he thought.

It had been thirty years, and John Watson still hadn't forgiven himself. He lived in constant fear of hurting others. That's why he became a doctor. He wanted to help anyone that he could. Also, when you're a doctor, no one seems to care when you were the same pair of black leather gloves all day, every day.

He gave his wrist a flick, and a stream of silvery-white fog curled into the air. He gave a small smile. Maybe he _could _control this if he set his mind to it.

John nearly jumped out of his skin when a bird slammed into the glass of the tiny window. The familiar feeling overtook him and John felt helpless against the force building inside of him. Humongous icicles penetrated the wall ahead of him.

_Thirty years and I still can't control this, _he thought. Memories came rushing back to him…

"_Watson!" The commanding officer shouted. "What was that?!" He demanded. "I've tried to control it! I can't!" John exclaimed, limping toward him. "Then why are you here?! We lost a good man because of you!" The soldier yelled. "What do you mean?" John's mouth felt dry. _

"_I mean, when you hit your fellow man, you paralyzed him for good!" He was shaking with rage. "Get out of here, Watson!"_

John stood and picked up his cane.

_Hide it, John, _he thought as he pulled on his gloves.

_No one can know._


End file.
